Pureblood Heritage
by Morgan Morai
Summary: The stars and constellations were different here. She hated them, hated the same beauty that lied to her the way her family and house lied- we haven't changed, we're the same, this isn't any different from America and if you don't agree or aren't happy you're a picky bitch. Transferring from one country to another was awful, but transferring the same lies and masks was worse.


**Pureblood Heritage**

* * *

**Full Summary & Disclaimer: **Rowling's stuff is Rowling's stuff, my ideas are my ideas.

_ The stars and constellations were different here. She hated them, hated the same beauty that lied to her the way her family and house lied- we haven't changed, we're the same, this isn't any different from America and if you don't agree or aren't happy you're a picky bitch._

_Pureblood Heritage_ is meant to throw a different light on auspicious wizarding families such as the Malfoys, Parkinsons, and the others that have back story but obviously don't get a lot of lime-light in the Harry Potter series. While Harry Potter is free to make the right decision and go galavanting off into the moonlight, many young wizards and witches had beloved brothers, sisters, friends and parents whose backs they couldn't bring themselves to turn on. The other Hogwarts students couldn't comprehend, couldn't understand what it meant to have generations of your family under Voldemort's thumb and be perfectly unable to do anything about it. _Pureblood Heritage _explores what that kind of life was like through the form of flawed, human, despicable, lovable and relatable four-dimensional witches and wizards.

(This takes place during Harry's 6th year, but isn't going to be linearly perfect especially when it comes to certain characters...)

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

If there was one pureblood wizarding family to rival the Malfoys or the extinct Blacks, it was the Beaumonts. The family castle, when parked, levitated three yards from the ground due to a legacy spell it was said of that Dumbledore himself couldn't complete. (The levitation not, as some suggested, to make throwing unwanted guests, lazy house elves or imbecile children out of the windows easier.)

Eccentric, foreign, and American were a few of the nicer words used to describe Lady Caprice Beaumont. The meaner witches...well, we won't go into what they said of the sole Beaumont heir marrying a 'colonist.' (Certain purebloods' forgetfulness of the muggle world happenings will be excused.)

But despite what anywitch and their house elf complained of, not a wand in the elite British wizarding society could deny Caprice's ability to throw a party. (Or 'gala', as she called her balls.) This specific event was to celebrate their homecoming- after spending the past fourteen years in America with their three daughters, Lord and Lady Beaumont (and the levitating Beaumont family castle, of course) returned to southern England, with Caprice in the capacity of American Ambassdor to the new British Minister of Magic. And that, as Lady Caprice would say, constituted for a gala.

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

"Esrea!" Caprice was fuming, and when she was fuming, she was stunning. Which is why she was always fuming.

"_Where _is your sister?" she demanded, stomping around in a storm of wizarding dress.

"I told her to come in, mom, like you said," Esrea offered, shifting on the plush settee while feigning concern. It was lost on her mother, who only needed the vaguest excuse to rail out against her husband's heir.

"-acting as if she owned the place, flaunting around with that _beast _her father gave her, flirting with the house elves, irre-_spons__-_ible, disre-_spect_-ful, and the oldest-"

"Right here, mother." Cool as ever, Medea slipped into the room.

"And your _hair_ is soaking!" Caprice shrieked without loosing a heartbeat.

Esrea shot a vicious glance at Medea, whom she had last seen in the courtyard pool outside. How had she known...?

"Just damp," Medea assured Caprice.

"Do not sass your mother!"

A withheld sigh; a giggle from Chanalea; a smirk from Esrea.

With a pop! several of their mother's countless elves entered the room bearing breakfast, which they set on a crystal tabletop. The elder two girls didn't dare ask Caprice why they were eating together- but Chanalea had no such qualms.

Caprice beamed to be asked; called her a darling. Medea's eyes narrowed infinitesimally.

"Tonight is my little gala, girls, and I wanted to go over the guest list and who you most certainly will and absolutely not be greeting."

Medea stifled a groan. It would be a long day.

* * *

"They've been gone for _fourteen years_," Narcissa Malfoy reminded her husband, rapping her spoon on the table.

"I've already replied," Lucius snapped. "We're going tonight. With Caprice as the new American Witch Ambassador, even the Minister will be there, Narcissa. We can't afford to be seen missing."

"Be seen missing," Draco snorted underneath his breath, chuckling.

"What was that?" Lucius demanded, eying his son dangerously.

Eyebrows raised innocently, Draco rapped out, "nothing, sir. Just caught something in my throat."

"Use a napkin, for Merlin's sake," Narcissa pleaded wearily. "At least Draco needn't go."

"Yes, please, I-still have lots of Hogwarts homework I need to catch up on."

"Nonsense," Lucius dismissed. "The boy's friends will be there." At that Draco's face perked up.

"But...'_muggle dress optional'_," Narcissa hissed, repeating part of the invitation.

Lucius shrugged, bring the spoon up to his lips. "They did just come from America."

Narcissa's face turned pale with suppressed anger. "I will _not_ have my son parading around like a common _mudblood._"

"He's my son, too," Lucius reminded her mildly, "and I had no intention of 'parading' him so demeaningly. He'll wear wizarding robes, just like us."

"Oh." Narcissa deflated like a balloon.

"We'll Floo there at 10 o'clock precisely," Lucius finalized.

* * *

Guests arriving in carriages saw a white castle with earthy-green turrets and roof, settled among the high hills like an old, stately queen reclining on her throne. From the open windows on all floors and out into the warm summer air came twinkling lights and the sound of voices and a full orchestra. Partiers such as the Malfoys who arrived by Floo found themselves stepping out of a roaring fireplace covering the entire wall that could easily fit several families, but emitted very little heat into the costly, packed drawing room.

Two entire floors of Beaumont Castle were covered in guests, which was saying a lot. Tthe strings were placed around the magnificent staircase without hindering the movement of the ball-goers who came to greet the Lord and Lady who were situated on the bottom step.

In an out-of-the-way alcove from across the sea of people, Medea watched her parents greet 'old friends' and occasionally drag one of their daughters over to introduce to a family (specifically Medea or Esrea if they had eligible sons- except for one redheaded family with rather shabby robes.)

The spiked butterbeer down her throat, the tight bodice encircling her ribs and the sense of hundreds of tightly-packed bodies made Medea dizzy.

Oh, how she longed to be back in America with Chrissy and Thomas- then she wouldn't have to be hiding in this corner feeling so alone, so ignored and _bored. _

She watched Caprice pull Esrea to her side as an aristocratic triage came to greet their hosts. What caught her eye was the couple's son- around her age, and out of all the boys in that category who she had seen introduced or been introduced to, he was neither dripping in sweat or looking miserable- on the contrary, he was quite the picture of cool, vaguely polite indifference.

_No bumbling idiot there, _she thought approvingly, sipping from her crystal glass with the maroon, black and white Beaumont seal.

So many witches and wizards- it was amusing to watch the more eccentrically-dressed and hear their British accents. Although born here, Medea had spent her childhood in Virginia and her school-friends' estates across the country. She considered herself American, not British. But as her father's heir, she would most likely be forced to live in England for some time.

As the family chatted on with her parents and Esrea, Medea caught sight of a dark-skinned, authoritative man whom everyone seemed to be deferring to. Several women tried to stop his halt, but with determination he made his way to Angelis and Caprice. Medea found herself gravitating towards her parents as well, in time for the older male to do the introductions. The tight circled spiraled out to include Medea and the new man.

"Minister Scrimgeour," the unknown aristocrat's voice was velvety and polished, "may I have the honor of introducing Lord and Lady Angelis and Caprice Beaumont, her Ladyship the late Witch Ambassador from America."

The Minister of Magic! In all the prattle of the party Medea must have zoned out that the Minister was coming.

"The pleasure is all mine," Minister Scrimgeour declared suavely, shaking hands with her father, bowing over Caprice's.

"And these," the introductee continued, "are their lovely daughters Esrea and Chanalea."

"And our eldest," Angelis for once spoke up for his heir, "Medea. I don't think I've had the honor of introducing you to the Malfoys, my dear. Mr and Mrs Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy," he indicated to the blond parents, "and their son, Draco."

Medea saluted Lucius and Narcissa, holding their blue eyes with a steady gaze, but when she stared Draco in the face full-on for the first time she was the first to look away. And now she knew why Esrea was drooling.

* * *

Medea turned as the empty parlor door opened and Esrea swirled into the room, murder on her face as she slammed the door shut behind her.

"Don't think I didn't see how you danced with him." Esrea shoved Medea against the cold wall and hissed, her beautiful face distorted.

Anger surged through Medea like a tide and she threw Esrea off of her and into a sofa. "Danced with _who_ like _what_?_" _she exclaimed scornfully, knowing exactly who the who was. "His mother made him ask me. And, unlike a certain _witch-whore_ I know, _I'm _not going to be chasing the first attractive British pants I lay eyes on," Medea snapped. "There's this thing called _loyalty_, ever heard of it?"

"Please," Esrea scoffed and rolled her eyes, hands on hips aggressively. "Thomas is thousands of miles away- no matter what school-girl infatuation you had for him, you never even got out of the _friend-zone_, did you? What did he say about you? 'She's like a sister to me!'" Esrea imitated a boy in puberty's high-pitched, shaky voice. "You never had a chance with him then and you certainly won't _now_. So don't go making a conquest out of Draco, got it?"

Drawing herself up with cold snake eyes, Medea announced calmly, "I will make a _conquest_ out of whomever I choose, little sister." She took a step towards Esrea and Esrea stepped back, fear flashing across her pale face.

"However, as taste, finesse, elegance and _pickiness_ are obviously things you are unfamiliar with...I doubt I will have any trouble 'snagging' whichever man _I_ choose." Medea swirled her red skirts around and away from Esrea towards the door. Before she had taken two steps, Medea twirled back around and struck Esrea across the face hard enough to make her little sister stagger.

Queen-like, Medea waltzed to the door. Hand on the knob, she half-turned to Esrea and announced in the same venomously polite voice, "and Essy, dear? Don't you _ever_ talk about Thomas that way again." She closed the door behind her with a loud bang.

* * *

Out of the hallway and into the ballroom once more, she spotted the teenage group clustered in an alcove with butterbeers in their hands. Weaving around the adult dancers, Medea made her way over to the 9 or so pureblood adolescents and smiled warmly as they made way for her to join their circle.

"Have I met all of you?" She turned back to them with a butterbeer from a waiter. Confidence over her victory with Esrea filled her, straightened her back, lifted her head, squared her shoulders and made her eyes sparkle with alertness.

Draco took it upon himself to introduce the group. From his attitude of calm superiority, she took it he was their shepherd.

Millicent Bulstrode was as ugly and pudgy as her name. There were the twin Carrow sisters in matching green who seemed nice enough, Flora and Hestia. Marcus Flint who was a bit older than the rest, Daphne and her younger sister Astoria Greengrass, Theodore Nott and last of all Pansy Parkinson, who color-coordinated with Draco. Medea was familiar with all their names and knew they each represented pureblood families like herself. There should have been four other pureblood children their ages, but she would ask later.

"So Marcus," Medea questioned, "you aren't still at Hogwarts, are you?"

"Naw," he said, and she hid a shudder at his disgusting, toothy smile. "I work at Gringott's now with my dad."

_You can rove your squinty eyes somewhere _else, _buster._ Once again she wished her mother hadn't chosen a sweetheart neckline for her gown, even if the center was hidden by carefully-stitched silk roses.

"He was our Quidditch captain," Draco said proudly, switching his glass to his right hand to smack Marcus' beefy shoulder with his left.

"Oh, is that what you play here?" Medea asked curiously.

"What do you play in America?" Hestia inquired, her heavy dark brows knit and raised. Her voice was peppy and she bounced on her heels when she asked the question.

"We do have Quidditch," Medea admitted, "and we do use brooms, but we have...had, more fun playing it in the water."

"The water?" Marcus grunted, frowning. "How's that work?"

"The different balls float, and the Snitch can swim underwater like a frog," Medea explained. "Makes it harder to find, because our pools are eight feet deep."

"The Slytherin common room is underneath the Hogwarts lake," Pansy Parkinson spoke up.

"Yes, I'm sure she'd have fun playing it with the lake monster," Nott interjected bitterly. Medea watched Pansy's reaction to him carefully, picking up on a vibe there.

Before anyone could respond, the dinner bell rang through everyone's ears, clear and loud.

"I think we're sitting together," Medea announced as she led her friends through a back entrance to the dining room, where the door wasn't congested with adults.

Sure enough, their names were placed at the right end of the long table. According to wizarding custom, adult women were first seated, then adolescent girls, next grown men, lastly the boys. Every other chair was the same gender, so Medea found herself sitting with a grown man on her left and Draco on her right, Esrea on his right and Marcus on hers. She was glad it was Chanalea opposite her and not Esrea, but the table was so wide it would've hardly mattered.

House elves whisked the first plates onto the table- an appetizer of something leafy with a delicious orange sauce. Medea didn't recognize it and was a little disappointed her parents hadn't chosen a more American fare.

Everyone was talking, but thanks to the spell in the house, the sound wasn't overpowering and no one had to raise their voice to be heard by the intended recipients.

"So," the redheaded man on her left spoke up, "you are the young lady of the house, no?"

Medea finally recognized him as the father of the famed redheaded Weasleys.

"Yes sir," she answered politely, spearing a strawberry on her fork and swallowing it.

"I don't think we were introduced. My name is Arthur Weasley- I work in the ministry like your mother. How do you like England?"

He had a kind face and eyes that stayed on hers, instead of straying up and down like most men's did. She appreciated that.

"I've only been back a few days, so I don't really have an informed opinion yet," she said good-naturedly. "Have you ever been to America?"

Arthur shook his head dejectedly. "Sadly, no, but I'll jump at the first opportunity. I have a hard enough time getting home from work, much less traveling to another continent." His blue eyes twinkled pleasantly at her before giving his attention to the witch on his left who demanded it.

"I can't believe you just talked to him." The words were from Draco, and possibly loud enough for Arthur to hear.

"Talked to whom?" Medea asked politely, automatically keeping the proper enunciation her mother demanded she normally reserved for adults, and those who angered her.

Draco frowned like she was demented. "That Weasley, of course. I can't believe your parents even invited them." His tone...any attractive features she had seen in him immediately disappeared.

Medea chose her words carefully as she quickly finished off her salad. "You haven't been to _America_, Draco," she with just a dash of patronization, "so you don't know exactly how things are _done_ there. First of all, my parents invite _whomever they choose _into this castle, and secondly, I don't rely on my _mother _to tell me who I may or may not speak to." Here his thick jaw clenched.

"The Beaumont heritage is strong enough for us to not feel threatened by talking to even Muggles, if we so choose," she continued, ignoring his fiercely narrowed eyes, "However, I can see why certain...other...pureblooded families may not feel so...secure...in their position. However, that's not the case where I come from."

"Quite," he managed icily while the sides of his face had seizures.

She could feel a thrill of exalted smugness run down her spine. Let Esrea have him. They deserved each other.

The rest of the courses were served, a half-hour was given to make sure everyone was done and digested, and the true dancing began. With a spell from her mother's wand the tables and chairs disappeared and the orchestra music amplified with a quick, brisky waltz.

"So, that's how things are done in America, eh?" Arthur Weasley's eyes sparkled in merriment.

Heat flooded her cheeks and she stared over his shoulder at the dancers. "You heard that?"

"Never apologize for spunk, Miss Beaumont," Arthur admonished. "Have you been introduced to any of the other children?"

"Besides Draco's group?" Medea lifted her left brow. "No."

Arthur led her over to a corner filled with four redheaded boys, their sister, and three other young men.

"Medea Beaumont, may I introduce my sons Percy, Fred and George, Ron, my youngest Ginny, and their friends Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Sullivan Fawley and Ernie Macmillan."

"Why-" Medea started, but was interrupted.

"Yeah, we don't hang out with snakes," one of the identical redheads spoke up.

"Fred," Arthur scolded.

"I'm George," he protested.

"Whatever." Arthur sighed. "Your own mother and I can hardly tell." He excused himself and left the group together.

"You're the only girl?" Medea asked Ginny curiously, and a bit enviously as well. What it must be like to be the princess of the family.

The girl's cheeks flamed to match her hair and she smoothed her gold dress self-consciously.

_She's very pretty._

"Nah, Ginny's one of the boys," Ron joked, elbowing his little sister good-naturedly, making their brothers snort. Exasperatedly, Ginny shoved him into his friend Harry, making everyone laugh.

"Do you know each other from Hogwarts?" Medea directed the question at all of them by briefly holding each set of eyes. Trying to start a conversation with them was like waxing leg hair.

"No" and "Yes" came out simultaneously.

"Why don't you dance with me and I'll explain it?" the one called Percy suggested stiffly, holding out his hand to her.

"Sure," she responded, and was swept onto the floor.

Percy's attitude was stiff, like the gold tie he wore. He was a decent dancer but didn't have the inborn fluidity of his father. "My brothers, sister and I have known everyone but Harry Potter our whole lives," Percy explained.

"That's simple enough," Medea admitted, meeting his eyes as she spoke. "Is he...the...Harry Potter? The orphan, the one who defeated You-know-who?"

"So you know about him in America?" Percy asked, sounding surprised for the first time.

"My parents left around the same time he was orphaned," Medea said, ignoring the jab at her adopted country.

"Oh, I see. And yes, he is."

That would explain why Harry was the only confirmed half-blood on the premises.

"So," Medea prompted, as the dance proved to be a long song, "why don't you tell me about yourself and your family?" Percy apparently became deaf after the 'yourself' part and introduced her to The Life and Times of Percy Weasley for the next several minutes. Prefect, worked with the late Minister, Head Boy, the list went on and on.

Why so anxious to prove yourself? What do you hide?

From time to time she caught Esrea in Draco's arms half-snarling, half-laughing at her over his shoulder.

_Perfect couple. _

After two hours Caprice contacted her for the first time, instructing her to find Chanalea and any of her friends and take them to a separate room with couches where they would be watched and could sleep, play games or chat as they chose.

The little Beaumont Butterfly was in the middle of the three kids her age, animatedly describing riding a pegasus, something none of them had ever done.

"Chanalea," Medea interrupted kindly, "Mom said dessert for you guys is going to be in a different room, where you can hang out for the rest of the night." At the word 'dessert' she immediately had a following, and silently led them out of the ballroom, through several doors and into their playroom for the evening where several elf nannies, some of them belonging with individual children, would watch over them. With a softened face, Medea watched Chanalea and her graceful manners as she presided over the dessert-table, allowing anyone who asked second and third helpings and handing everyone napkins.

She's a good kid.

* * *

She wished they would leave.

All of them.

It was almost four in the morning and even though it was still dark out, Medea could feel the dew in the air as she stood on the balcony.

By this point few were still dancing and most wizards and witches were gathered around in groups playing chess or just simply talking. Still, the atmosphere was stifling.

It had been a success, and Caprice was sure to be happy for the next week or so.

_Enough to keep her out of my hair, anyway._

The metal railing Medea leaned against pressed painfully into her stomach and she shifted uncomfortably but was too tired to stand on her own.

The stars and constellations were different here. She hated them, hated the same beauty that lied to her the way her family and house lied- we haven't changed, we're the same, this isn't any different from America and if you don't agree or aren't happy you're a picky bitch.

A winged creature flew towards Medea, reaching out to her with a thought as warm as an embrace.

_Morgan Morai, where have you been the whole evening? _

A slender, smooth-scaled black dragon the size of a kitten beat the air with her wings to halt herself, creating a warm breeze that caressed her familiar's face.

Morgan perched on Medea's shoulder and nuzzled her jaw as an affection greeting but refrained from sending any images or impressions of how she had spent the evening into Medea's mind.

_Bitch, _she thought affectionately, stroking the silky black head with her index finger.

"Medea?" Draco. "What is that on your shoulder?"

She turned to face him and Morgan hissed at the boy, arching her back to flare the spikes down her spine and spreading her inky wings.

Draco raised his hands, smirking. "Woah, I didn't mean to startle it."

"It?" Medea raised her left brow. "She can understand you. Draco Malfoy, meet my familiar, my legacy, Morgan Morai."

_Stand down...for now._ Morgan gave him a last huff and shifted her spines, pulled her wings back in and settled down to keep a slitted eye on Malfoy.

"Your legacy?" He almost sounded impressed. Medea softened just a bit.

She nodded, scratching an apathetic, wary Morgan along her jaw. "My dad has her mother- and his dad her grandmother, and so on, back up to the very first Beaumont, a celtic Druid. Sort of a first-born Beaumont thing."

He took a step forward to peer at Morgan curiously. "I've never seen a spined dragon so black. Are they common in America?"

She tilted her head with a half-smile. "Morgan's not exactly a dragon, Malfoy."

_Shall we do a bit of showing off?_

"Draco!" Narcissa's voice wafted out the doors.

Medea waited for him to say goodbye, that it was nice to meet her- the usual. But instead he took a half-step forward and just stared at her intensely, gray eyes searing through black like he could read her mind.

She recognized her body freezing up, heart pumping wildly. What was he going to do? Why was he here?

He turned and left without a word.

As she watched his broad back disappear she remembered to be thankful that Angelis had taught her Occlumency since she was a young child, although she doubted he was skilled in Legilimens.

_Well, that was odd, Morgan._

* * *

**A/N **Well! This is the first fanfic I've stayed with past the first chapter and wasn't totally disgusted with for a looonnggg time. This chappy was rather long and for that I either apologize or welcome 'ya; they won't always be this length. Some of the main recognizable characters may be a bit OOC and I may be off on a few (or a lot) wizarding/HP specific items, and for that I apologize for along with any and all grammatical errors. Let me know what you loved, but more specifically, what you hated and why! :)


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